Crossing the Line
by SaphirePhoenix
Summary: A new collection of Harry Potter drabbles and vignettes. Het and slash are possible, ratings are unpredictable, and mindless insanity is unavoidable.
1. Witness

**A/N: And I'm back again to upload a recent writing assignment! This story will be a series of vignettes of various Harry Potter crossovers. Het and slash are possible, ratings are unpredictable, and mindless insanity is unavoidable. The first few chapters will involve Twilight (as per my paper topic). Later on, I would like to branch into other novels, tv shows, video games, and even anime. This first chapter is rather short, but I hope that I can inspire someone out there with my little fics—because everyone knows you just can't have enough crossovers.**

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I. Witness

The war was over, Voldemort was dead, the Light side had won, and Harry Potter's newfound sense of freedom lasted—oh, about forty-eight hours before it all went to hell in a handbasket. He should have been graduating from Hogwarts with his friends; he should have been playing international Quidditch or enrolling in the Auror Academy; he should have been exchanging marital vows with Ginny Weasley; he should have been welcoming two or three children into the world, and then seeing them off to school eleven years later; he should have lived happily ever after as recompense for sixteen bloody years as a neglected orphan and Death Eater target.

He should not have been traipsing through North American a century and a half later, following a supernatural sense of "wrongness" toward the upper west coast. Harry did not appreciate interference in his quiet (and unfortunately immortal) retirement. He usually traveled in the opposite direction of his gift's warning, but—this time—an extra itch between his shoulder blades urged him forward. It was just as well that Harry decided to stop in Nevada for a quick drink on his third day out. An old acquaintance (and perhaps his only friend in this life), found Harry and asked that he bear witness to a hybrid child before the Volturi.

"A hybrid?" Harry repeated dubiously.

And an exclamation over the Volturi was better left unsaid.

Harry was extremely reluctant to get involved, but a glimmer of his old human nature (that darn "saving-people-thing") persuaded him otherwise. It didn't help that Carlisle Cullen wielded grandfatherly disappointment like Albus Dumbledore reincarnate.

At least Harry didn't expect to die this time.

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**I won't hold my breath on reviews for this, but I hope you guys will keep reading! And if anyone has a drabble/vignette suggestion, I might try it out.**


	2. Biology

**Disclaimer: Oh, yes, I have no claim to any recognizable characters, places, situations, or cliches.**

**A/N: We all feel the urge to play with this scene in Twilight.**

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II. Biology

_This must be a form of torture,_ Edward thought. _Punishment for sins of the past…_

The faintest breath of rain-filled air drifted through the open window and over Bella Swan's shoulder. A short, wispy strand of dark hair fluttered about the new student's forehead, wafting more of that insidious scent in Edward's direction. Oh, how he loathed the wall of silence cutting off that mind. All he needed right then was a single thought—homework questions, relationship worries, a shopping list, a set of song lyrics—anything to distract him from the burning thirst! Edward's hand jerked reflexively into a fist, fingernails scraping some of the paint from the table.

Bella glanced at him from the corner of her eye—curious, perhaps drawn to his predatory perfection. Fortunately, she withheld from making small talk. Something about his expression must have alarmed her, because her eyes darted quickly back to the chalkboard, and her mouth set in a mulish line. She tried to sniff her clothing discretely, and Edward would have chuckled at any other time. Instead, he exhaled, trying to expunge every hint of that drug from his senses. Edward's face scrunched in disgust at his own weakness. Unintentionally, his action caused a fiery blush to swarm Bella's cheeks. The sound of her accelerated heartbeat, and the fragrance of warm, youthful blood, sent the last of his teetering self-control over the edge.

_Don't let go, Edward! Think of Carlisle—_

Edward's teeth clenched as cold, venomous saliva filled his mouth, dripping down the back of his throat and igniting it. He'd never wanted anything more in his second life than a sip of that forbidden ambrosia. It was like freesia, honeysuckle, chocolate, wine,water, stars, light, fire, blood—

_Mine!_

_And it would be so easy,_ he mused, forcing down a guilty shudder. _I'm faster than the others. I could pounce and be done with the deed in seconds—before Jasper or Alice could even try to stop me. Or I could wait a few hours, follow the human home—I could make it look like an accident on the road, the big city fool driving too fast on a wet, winding road…_

A strangled whisper of _"Protego Olfactus!"_ caught Edward's attention, dragging his rebellious mind away from temptation like a shrieking, petulant child. His sense of smell was gone, but Edward ignored that as he stopped breathing altogether. Horror and shame warred upon his face, and the venom in his stomach threatened to come back up.

_I almost ended an innocent life—Carlisle would have been so disappointed! And what about our cover? Would I have stopped at one feeding, or slaughtered the entire class in my bloodlust?_

Edward shied away from the thought. Where was his vaunted self-control now? How could a single, pathetic human unleash the monster that Edward kept so tightly suppressed? Fury rose in his chest now, which rumbled with a growl too low for human ears. He wanted to hate the source of that maddening scent. Edward looked away from the table—dented by his fingerprints—to glare darkly at the boy sitting one row over, on the opposite side of Bella.

The human boy seemed rather unremarkable to Edward. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and sleepless shadows were visible beneath his horn-rimmed glasses. His hair was dark and untidy. His clothes were careworn and a size too large. Edward would have dismissed him without hesitation on a normal day—and that would be his undoing.

Edward's keen sight noted a faint mark upon the boy's forehead—a cut shaped like lightning.

Emerald eyes met his unexpectedly. They narrowed in consideration, and then the new student quirked an eyebrow at Edward's lab partner. Bella, who was sitting as far away from Edward as physically possible—a wise decision—mouthed a single, pleading word back:

"Switch?"

The boy nodded, and Bella sagged with relief. Edward realized that his eyes must be as dark as pitch, the muscles in his neck bulging with tension—it was no wonder the girl felt threatened by his proximity. As soon as Mr. Banner instructed the class to begin, the room broke out into noisy chatter, and the two humans quickly changed seats. Bella gave Edward a fleeting backward glance, and then offered a polite smile to her new tablemate, Mike Newton. Mike grinned smugly, and Edward didn't need to be a mind reader to guess the subject of his thoughts.

_That vulgar waste of space. I'd be doing the world a favor if I—_

Edward twitched violently, and then stiffened to the point of ruining his mortal façade. He couldn't stay here. His nerves were completely shot, and Edward could only imagine what his siblings were feeling. Even scattered throughout the small, clustered school buildings, they would be able to sense Edward's panic. Alice had to have seen his near miss… How badly he wanted to tear open that slender throat and drain every drop of life-sustaining liquid…

The boy leaned toward Edward to speak, and the vampire jerked away in panic. "Are you alright now?" His voice was soft and clear, with a full British accent.

_He's too close—that scent—_

Was gone?

As if Edward had spoken aloud, the boy answered, "Don't worry, I took care of it. I don't quite understand why you were so affected by my blood—of all the rotten luck—but you won't smell a thing now. I can also fix the table, if you like."

Without waiting for an answer from the otherwise stunned vampire, the boy pulled out a slender piece of wood and waved it over Edward's hand. _"Reparo."_ The solid sheet of metal beneath his fingertips smoothed out, and the finish gleamed like new.

Edward blinked in shock. The situation was so far out of his comfort zone, that Edward wondered if he was still trapped in a blood-crazed fantasy.

"What are you?" he asked, unable to form a more subtle query.

"Oh! Excuse me," the boy grinned and held out his empty hand, "I'm Harry Potter—just moved across the pond—and I never expected to meet a _vampire_ in a _muggle_ high school! You Americans are bloody unbelievable!"

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	3. Truth

**Disclaimer: If I could own Edward, he would change the name and drop the stalker. For Harry. But, sadly, not this time.**

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III. Truth

Edward glanced at the angle of the sun, and then down at the snow white feather clutched in his marble hand. His fingers caressed the soft, silk-thin vanes, so very careful not to crush it with his supernatural strength. His body trembled slightly, and he fought not to pace the length of his empty bedroom. Inactivity was for the best; there were no more possessions for him to exorcise his fury on.

The sleek leather couch—an unnecessary creature comfort—was long gone now, a pile of stuffing and woodchips at the bottom of the front lawn. His music collection fared no better, the once-treasured records crushed and scattered across the floor. As he watched, blank-faced, another piece of shredded cardboard covering fluttered out the gaping hole in his broken window.

Esme had offered to clean up the mess, but Edward told her—very quietly, painfully—to leave him alone. And she did. They were all gone—the Cullens. Each of them had offered to stay, offered their sympathy, apologies, excuses—Edward wanted none of it. They didn't understand why he was so upset. They thought he should feel grateful—for life, for love, for second chances.

Edward only wanted the truth.

And it arrived on the wings of a magnificent scarlet phoenix, a creature that not even vampires could comprehend existing. So much of their worldly experience seemed trite in comparison, if immortal phoenixes roamed actually the skies. And phoenixes were not soulless monsters, feeding on the living for a selfish continuity. No, they survived on magic.

_Magic._

The word made Edward shiver with longing.

For as long as Edward could remember, something had always been missing from the core of his being. He felt unfulfilled and empty, soulless, meaningless, and all-around disconnected from the world he lived in. His human memories were so hazy, and his vampire ones were forcefully suppressed. Carlisle said that he shouldn't torment himself with past mistakes. Alice said to focus on a happy future with the silent-minded human girl.

And for a while, Edward had tried. He tried so hard to live by Carlisle's convictions and Alice's advice. He attended school with the other "children," pretended that their mockery of a human lifestyle was worth something, and surrounded himself with a protective shell of brooding solitude. His siblings, of course, considered him dark and moody and self-absorbed. He needed a hobby, they said. Edward took up the piano. Then he needed a mate. Edward avoided all females vampires like the plague, and let them think it was his old-fashioned sensibilities at work. But Edward just couldn't connect to them. Something inside of him hinted at other options or choices already made. Bella had seemed like the final solution. There was a girl whose very blood sang to him, whose quiet mind consumed his every thought, and successfully blocked out the alarming images that came to him every now and then—images of every thought Edward had ever witnessed, but quite a few that seemed strangely familiar.

_ —a bearded man smiling with pride—a homely woman with soft eyes and hugs—friendly teenage faces—dark hair and winter kisses—yellow blurs and stone walls—blue skies and wind beneath his feet—grassy hills and a towering forest—smoke and brambles and darkness—red sparks and a golden cup—stars and grave markers—frightened green eyes and green light—burning and blindness—_

The images seemed like nonsense to Edward; the byproduct of an overactive imagination and too many movie nights with Emmett. He tried to ignore them and focus on Bella; loving her, protecting her, keeping her. It wasn't easy, and Edward had only Alice's visions as reassurance that he wasn't making a colossal mistake. But she saw their meadow, his family's happiness, and—unfortunately—Bella's transformation. That should have delighted him, his soul mate strong and beautiful and eternally his. Instead, it made him cringe and take two steps back.

In the midst of his romantic confusion, Edward couldn't help but turn to something simpler, like the loose ends of his extra memories. After the incident with James, where Bella's presence in his life could have killed her, Edward forced himself to become distant. He decided to guard Bella's dreams from outside her bedroom, rather than in it. And on the first clear, rainless night, he took to searching the sky—for what he didn't know. But then he spotted it: a white owl, pale and swift like a ghost. It carried something long and fat—a rat—but it almost looked like a scroll in the moonlight—

The dam broke, and the memories—once fleeting snippets—flooded in and drowned out everything else.

Edward started tapping on brick walls and staring at paintings. He purchased broomsticks that piled up in the shed, and developed a sudden interest in eating muddy frogs. He raided Carlisle's study for books in Latin, and asked Jasper to whittle down a holly branch. His family became disturbed by his behavior, Bella crushed by his sudden disinterest, and Alice found that she could no longer see his future. Edward, however, was oblivious to those around him as his appetite diminished, and his eyes grew dark with hunger. When he attempted to crawl into the lit fireplace with a handful of beach sand, Carlisle could no longer keep silent.

He told Edward the truth. About a seventeen-year-old boy, and a night of ill-fortune and misfired curses. About prophecies, the greater good, and manipulative old men. About debts and promises. About his father, his mother, and a selfless boy with too many burdens. About wizards and magic and memories.

About _Obliviation_.

Edward stared down again at the feather in his hand. A part of him wanted to forget the lengthy explanation that it came with—to accept Carlisle's duplicity as an act of care, and return to his family, to his Bella. Another part of Edward—the part that remembered—wanted to fling the object away in horror and grab onto the walls, the floor, the broken furniture—anything sturdy. A greater part—of someone who wasn't Edward at all—gathered his resolve and gripped the small portkey tighter. The sun finally disappeared beneath the forest line, and somewhere downstairs an old clock chimed the seventh hour.

The world blurred, and Edward felt a sharp pull just behind his navel. The feather burned hot against his palm, but letting go was no longer an option.

Edward landed with a heavy thump on navy carpet, knees bending automatically to absorb the shock. He glanced around, his senses on full alert in the new environment. The room was small but spacious, a Headmaster's office cluttered with various trinkets and paintings. A familiar phoenix trilled gently from its golden perch, and Edward felt a comforting warmth seep into his frozen heart. Seated behind the wide, claw-footed desk, an elderly man in dark robes waited patiently for his attention. The vampire felt a flash of befuddled recognition as he stood there, caught by piercing emerald eyes.

"Harry…?" Edward whispered unsurely.

A genuine smile twitched behind the wizard's salt and pepper beard. He chuckled slightly and gestured to an open chair. "It's good to see you again, Cedric. Welcome back."

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